Scales of Snow
by scarlettsoldier
Summary: What if the King-Beyond-the-Wall was not much of a king at all? Instead was an alias made to hide the true leader of the free-folk from the Night's Watch and the Seven Kingdoms. Their leader instead was both a southerner and of the free-folk - except she had what no one else did; a family with true right to the Seven Kingdoms and hair of the finest silver. AU–Eventual Robb Stark/OC
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

 _Here is my first story and its prologue. I hope you enjoy this sneak peak at what this will be, there will be also be a longer note at the end of the chapter. :)_

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Jon Snow

* * *

North of the Wall

It was a constant loop that ran through his head, a single word that weighed heavier with each repetition that offered an answer which Jon couldn't accept. _Why?_ Why had Qhorin Halfhand insisted that Jon kill him? Jon knew the answer, but it didn't serve as a worthy enough reason in his mind. The Halfhand had been a man that Jon admired, but still he killed him – killed him so that he, Jon, could survive. Except his survival wasn't a guarantee and for all he knew, he could be marching to his death. Mance Rayder had once been a brother of the Night's Watch, but now he was a wildling just like the rest; a deserter and an oath breaker. Jon doubted that there would be much room for negotiation when he'd be presented to Mance, he was no different to the rest of his brothers who had been slain. He was just another bastard son and Jon doubted that being a lord's son would make Mance want to kill him any less.

The thought of his lord father sent a pang through his chest. Eddard Stark had been a good and honourable man, a man who should not have been murdered by the boy king – better yet _bastard_ king. While his father never showed him the same level of affection as he had his trueborn children as to not spread insult to his lady wife. He however never treated Jon poorly. In the sparse moments where they had been alone and away from Lady Catelyn's company Ned Stark had treated him like a son, a _real_ son.

Except he never once warned Jon away from this life, never told him that the brothers he would serve with would mostly consist of rapists and murderers, not the honourable men Jon had grown hearing stories about.

None of it mattered now.

His lord father was dead.

Jon was now an oath breaker and captive of the King Beyond the Wall.

Whatever misdeeds that had been done to him and that he himself had caused no longer mattered.

He felt a pressure on his back, a discreet shove delivered by Ygritte which prompted him to look up and see that they had arrived at the campsite. His dark eyes took in all that was around him – even what stretched out beyond his line of sight. All he could see for miles were tents and more tents stretched across the snow-covered grounds. The number of Mance's army hadn't been an exaggeration like some of the brothers on the Wall thought. In fact, Jon couldn't help but conclude that this was possibly the largest army to march against the Wall yet. He kept walking, his steps slower as his eyes carefully tried to count as many wildlings as they could. If by some miracle he was to survive, and by an even greater miracle were to escape back to the Wall, he could at least bring back a number for his brothers. A number that was already fairing much higher than their own. Jon's attention however was broken by a sight he hadn't expected.

A giant.

An _actual_ giant.

He thought that the giants had all died centuries ago, but before his eyes not only was there one but _multiple_ carrying tree trunks in their muscled arms.

"First time you seen a giant Jon Snow?"

Jon had no words for the red-haired girl, only a meek nod as his lips remained parted and onyx eyes wide with shock.

"Well don't stare too long, they're shy," she replied with a smirk, "When they stop being shy they get angry, and when they angry I've seen 'em pound a man straight into the ground like a hammer 'nd a nail."

Her snark was accompanied with a giant using his fist to sheath a tree trunk into the frosted ground. Jon turned his head towards hers, a disbelieving glare directed at her feigned nonchalance before she walked off. Begrudgingly, he followed her as she and the others directed him further into the campsite. As they walked further into the heart of the campsite more and more wildlings stopped and stared. When it was established that he was a crow some of the wildlings began to curse at him, they're hateful eyes glared down at him as though he was the sole person responsible for their suffering. It then didn't take long for rocks and other objects to be thrown at him along with their cries of hatred.

When they reached the guarded tent that he assumed belonged to Mance, Jon schooled his expression and did his best to suppress the anxiousness he felt. It was dark inside the tent, the only light coming from the low burning fire in the middle of the space and the few candles that littered around. Inside were three men and a clocked figure that Jon couldn't distinguish. Two of the men were sitting by the fire, one – a redheaded man with a thick beard – sat eating while the other stared at Jon stoically. The last man sat away from the first two with the cloaked figure, both their heads angled low as if they'd been partaking in a private discussion before they had entered. It was the redheaded wildling who spoke first.

"I smell a crow."

"We killed his friends. Thought you'd want to question this one," Lord of Bones answered the unspoken question as to why Jon was with them.

"What do we want with a baby crow?" The redhead who Jon assumed was Mance continued to eat as he questioned.

"This baby killed _Qhorin Halfhand_. He wants to be one of us."

The way Ygritte spoke made it sound as if Jon should be proud of what he had done. Instead Jon felt the guilt that he couldn't show to the wildlings, the shame from killing a brother and having gone against the vows he had made. However, the news of what he had done caused Mance to place aside his food and stand, his steps slow and intimidating as he grew closer to Jon.

"That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine, friends twice your size" he stated with a calm anger to his voice that implied he didn't believe what Ygritte said.

Jon didn't flinch, instead he spoke as nonchalant as he could despite his nerves. "My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts."

Mance's attitude didn't waver, "Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart and there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods."

There was a small pause before Mance asked, "What's your name boy?"

"Jon Snow."

Mance didn't say anything in return, instead he quirked a bushy red eyebrow at Jon while they stared at each other in silence, both standing still before Jon realised who it was that he stood before – the man who called himself King Beyond the Wall. If he was going to do what Halfhand had asked him, he needed to start pretending like he truly wanted to join them. Otherwise he wouldn't make it out of this war camp alive.

He dropped to his knee quickly and added, "Your grace."

Jon was shocked when instead of being told to rise, the tent instead was filled with deep throaty laughter that was coming from the tent's occupants.

"Your grace?" The red head questioned mockingly as he turned to face the others in the room. "Did you hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart."

The men and Ygritte continued to laugh, even as the man who had sat furthest away strode to where they all stood.

"Stand boy," he demanded when he stopped in front of Jon, "So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. Thank you for the gift, Lord of Bones. You can leave us."

He directed his request at Ygritte as well but as she left she looked to Jon with what almost looked like encouragement, a small reassurance to his already wounded confidence.

"The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?"

"Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls." The redhead he thought was Mance mocked.

Jon didn't have anything to say to either men, nothing that would make him look less like a fool than he already did. The hooded figure was next to rise from where they had been sitting and made their way to Jon too, but still he couldn't see the wildling's face, even as he tried to look around the men without being caught.

"This chicken eater you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane." The dark-haired man said.

"Can't believe this pup killed the Halfhand," _Tormund_ retorted.

A feminine laughter resounded through the small tent, the sound coming from the hooded figure. A face peered out from the hood, a delicate and pale one that belonged to a girl who looked to be the same age as him. Jon couldn't see much from the darkness in the tent, but he could tell that she was beautiful.

"He's no simple pup Tormund. This here is a wolf pup and their teeth are _much_ sharper."

Tormund huffed but Jon's attention was with Mance Rayder who had reached to halt the girl – except she ignored his hand as though it meant nothing to her and stepped closer to Jon, her eyes locked on him with a hard and crystal-like stare. There was something chilling in her eyes, crystal orbs that held a mirth that was innocent, but beneath it all Jon could see a startling coldness that he was unprepared for. He'd never seen a woman's eyes be so cold, even Ygritte's hadn't been as stoic as this woman's. A _woman,_ not a girl, at this distance Jon could now just make out the curves the woman had beneath her clothes.

"Besides, this wolf needs to be enlightened so that he may leave this tent not the fool you two have made him."

Tormund spoke up, "El—"

" _You_ do not interrupt me Giantsbane," the woman said coolly with eyes that burned like fire.

She turned back to face him and Jon could admit silently that he felt more of a fool than he did before. He had been missing something important, that he could tell, but what exactly _it_ was Jon had no idea. However, it was when the woman raised her arms and lifted the hood from her face that Jon felt his blood grow cold in his veins. Her eyes weren't simply a pale crystal, they were a vibrant violet and her hair as white as snow. There was only one known family that were born with such colours – the Targaryen's. No one else.

A smirk played on her pink lips, "The chicken eater and the old man—" a bark of laughter came from Mance, "—aren't the kings you thought they were. The King Beyond the Wall? _All lies,_ Jon Snow. I am Elaenys Targaryen, _Queen_ Beyond the Wall."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _This story I'm seriously looking forward to writing this story because I think it's always fun with GoT/ASOIAF fanfictions because there is so much you can do and do differently when it's AU, the universe is just that big._

 _I just wanted to write some things here for a moment so bear with me, I'm not one for doing big notes every chapter so this will be it probably;_

 _For starters I haven't actually started writing any chapters for this yet, I have them planned but I wanted to post the prologue to get an idea of interest so don't be scared thinking that I'm going to end it here, and don't judge this too quickly just by the prologue, I promise it gets better from what I've got planned so far ;)_

 _I want to state here that while this won't be all rainbows and sunshine because no GoT fanfiction could be completely without angst unless it was completely AU, but this story will be my slight retribution for the Starks, especially Robb and Cat. So I just wanted to say that this will be pretty pro-Stark and if that's not your piece of cake cool, but just because I love the Stark's it doesn't mean there won't be angst, because there will be._

 _Also the pairing is Robb and my OC but it will be sometime until they "meet" since I want to establish her character and where she falls in this game of thrones._

 _Please follow/favourite/review to give me an idea of interest and any suggestions you have, anything you want to see I am happy to look at and try to incorporate it into the story._

 _~ Mika_


	2. Chapter One: Southern Truths

**Author's Note:**

 _Wow, thank you everyone who has followed/favourited/reviewed so far! It's so encouraging to see that people are interested as to where this is going. This chapter came out a lot quicker than I thought so I hope you all enjoy it! A bit more background and answers to who exactly Eleanys is :)_

 _Just a forewarning I won't be able to post a chapter a day after another like this since I'm a university student and go back from break this week, I was just so excited to see such a response so far that I typed away all day! Thank you all again!_

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my character's, everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin_

* * *

Chapter One: Southern Truths

* * *

Rhaella Targaryen

* * *

Dragonstone

 _Eighteen years ago_

 **I** _f_ there was one lesson Rhaella remembered being taught from her father Aegon, it was that circumstance could be both a blessing and a curse. It was by circumstance that her father was made King – the death of his eldest brother Aerion and Aemon Targaryen's vow as a maester were the unfortunate happenings that occurred for him to take the crown. It was as Rhaella was laid on the cold stone floor of Dragonstone, a wild storm crashing against the thick walls of the keep, that she couldn't help but think how cursed her circumstances were. She had been forced to marry her brother, forced into laying with her brother, forced to stand witness by his side to his terrors – all the while as a sickness grew thick around him like a cloud of poisonous smoke. Rhaella couldn't help but reflect on her infortune due to circumstance.

But was she blessed?

Did her children, outcomes of rape and "duty", count as blessings?

She loved them fiercely, even now as her breath struggled within her, as she tried to push another from her womb. But could she really consider them blessings? Rhaegar, her first born son had been the apple of her eye, nothing like the vile creature that was her brother – _her husband_. He took after her solely, a gentle and loving soul with the same fire which belonged to a dragon. He _was_ a dragon, and in secret, she was too. Aerys, while fascinated with fire had never himself been immune to its touch; had never been a dragon himself. At the time Rhaegar had seemed to be a blessing, even now her love still continued for her dead son. But with Rhaegar came Aerys need for children and once again she was succumbed to the painful and lengthy process of conception. However, each seed that he would plant in her womb eventually would always end lost to them. It was during this time that Rhaella deemed that the sickness truly began to fester itself into Aerys bones. With every child lost to them, he grew more volatile. They never tried to conceive as much after the multiple losses, instead her brother chose to find pleasures in other misdeeds. The only time he would ever take her was after he had watched someone burn and after seventeen years, when her beautiful Prince had become a man married, she had her second son; Viserys.

That was five years ago and now she was having her third child on the cold floor of Dragonstone, all the while on the brink of losing everything.

Her first son had fallen in love with the betrothed of Robert Baratheon, a possessive and pigheaded man, too blind to see that his future wife had not been taken against her will, but had instead been rescued from the very life Rhaella suffered.

The girl would most likely end up dead too. Whether it be the physical kind or the one that she herself has been living for decades now – death of one's soul.

Lyanna Stark.

Rhaegar.

Aerys.

Elia and her grandchildren.

Her _whole_ family.

It was only her and Viserys now… as well as the child who was still fighting their way from her and into the world.

But Rhaella knew she only had _limited_ time now.

A dry scream echoed throughout the keep, the sound tearing the insides of her throat brutally, so much so that Rhaella thought she might cough blood. Viserys was by her side and crying, the boy weeping so much that Rhaella was confused as to whether she wanted to comfort her son or throttle him. Ser Willem Darry was by her side, coaxing her with soft words to push and that she could do it, stupid words that she had heard a million times before when birthing her children and stillborns. This would be the end of her, she knew it, he knew it, and maybe even Viserys knew it. But she continued to push, continued to fight for the life of her child.

They were coming for them.

The stag, lions and wolves.

They wanted dragon blood, and she would not let them take it. Not all of it; not ever.

If she was to die in this world where women were the objects of society and men, she would leave it with this one final act, one final demonstration of a woman's strength – she would have her children live.

A comforting hand grasped her own, Rhaella's violet eyes met the cold grey of the servant boy who she trusted over all. Jasper Waters, a stable hand with a heavy build unlike other servants. Jasper had always been much unlike the other servants of Kings Landing. He was brave, strong and most of all he was her confidant. Where everyone else had stood aside and let her brother do what he wanted with her, Jasper had spoken out against it and for it he lost his tongue. He was lucky that his tongue had been all that Aerys had taken, Rhaella would have succumbed easily into despair if she had lost her friend. Jasper squeezed her hand once again in comfort, communicating to her in the only way he could:

 _"Push."_

The unspoken plea from the man evoked more comfort to her than any spoken words could have. All he had to use as communication was his actions and the hand that held her own spoke volumes. So, with his hand in hers she found a will she hadn't realised she hadn't had before and pushed as hard as she could. And just like that a weight fell from between her legs and into the arms of Ser Willem Darry, a wail piercing the sound of the raging storms outside.

"A baby girl," was hushed from his mouth.

Rhaella looked over at the child and felt the need to weep, not because she knew what was to come, but because out of any time to be born a woman, her child had chosen the worst. Ser Willem Darry went to hand the child to her but Rhaella shook her head. Not only did she no longer have the energy but she loved her child, and Rhaella knew that she couldn't bear to have her baby in her arms only to have the sweet child be ripped straight out of them.

"I'm too weak and you must go," she commanded looking to her son and then back to Ser Darry, "You will take them both and flee far, far away from here. Just like we planned."

"A name, my Queen?"

She weakly looked over to the baby, time running to its end, "Daenerys. The same as the many strong Targaryen women who have preceded her, but also after Queen Daena Targaryen, Daena the Defiant."

Ser Darry nodded his head before he bundled the baby into a dirty blanket and dragged a stubborn Viserys behind him. She watched as they left, watched as the door shut between them forever. She glanced over to her dear friend, a sad smile on her face. Even in death he _still_ stood by her side.

"If things had been different I would have loved you with all my heart Jasper Waters, more than I already do now."

He brought his hand to her cheek with affection and Rhaella couldn't help but smile with honest happiness, her first in what seemed to be years. Except the pleasant feeling was over as another contraction hit her. With all the drama, Rhaella hadn't realised the pain she was still in, that the contractions were still coming. A scream tore from her throat again which immediately earned panic from Jasper.

"I – I think there is another," she gasped in answer to his wide eyes.

A wail of pity left her lips as she began to push again, she was now positive that there was another babe coming, she could still _feel_ it despite how weak she was. Jasper was immediately between her legs, his cotton doublet in his hands as he waited for the next child. Rhaella couldn't help but curse the Gods for all this infortune they had given her.

Her child. What would happen to her baby?

There was nothing more sad than being alone in the world.

With a fierce scream Rhaella unleashed all her anger and pain. She felt the baby tear out of her ruthlessly, taking her last ounce of strength. Rhaella's eyes were blurry but she was just able to make out the tiny figure in Jasper's large arms, a body much smaller than Daenerys' had been. Unlike before, Jasper left no room for her dismissal and instead placed the baby in her growingly numb arms. There the child stared up at her silently, as though she knew of the dire circumstances they faced.

Jasper grunted at her, silently requesting that she named the little girl. She looked over to Jasper to see the determination in him. He was strong and she wished she had let him take Daenerys and Viserys too.

"Elaenys, after Daena's sister Elaena… P-please – don't let-t them t-take her…"

Her voice trailed off in breathless puffs of air.

She was fading.

All she had to do was give him one look and the child was taken from her arms, tucked snuggly in the crook of his arm. There were no more words that were spoken between them. Rhaella kept to her thoughts as she knew he did. She wished she had known him more than she had, only ever having encounters ever so often as to not raise suspicion. Though it was enough to build the strong form of loyalty between them and she knew, without a doubt, that if any of her children were to live, it'd be the babe nestled peacefully in Jasper's arms.

With the sound of the door closing behind her, Rhaella could close her eyes in peace.

* * *

Elaenys Targaryen

* * *

North of the Wall

The tent was warm besides the deathly chill that bellowed outside, the fire and the boiling water she was bathing in the ultimate cause of her comfort. The wooden tub she was sprawled comfortably inside of was one of the many things she had accepted from her kinsman, whom had looted it from one of the weaker free-folk clans who had most likely stole it from a southern community living close to the Wall. This latest clan had the opportunity to join their cause peacefully, but instead, like most, had wanted her dead. From what Elaenys could recall, one of the free-folk had demanded that Mance be King like they had thought, that he refused to follow some "southern bitch who wished she had a cock".

She showed him _exactly_ what a southern bitch could do. She drove her knife through his gut and cut off his precious masculinity that he had boasted about. With her show of power, she won the rest over to her cause, that and they were smart enough to know a losing fight from a winning one. The clan had known they would have starved if they chose not to follow her, or that they would have been killed by the white walkers like many free-folk before them.

She remembered how they had looked at her with respect, how they had proclaimed her their Queen as she then took them into her ranks, gave them food and weapons – _everything_ that they could possibly need. She was ruthless like any other of the free-folk, but Elaenys took care of her own –because the free-folk _were_ her people and with Mance's help they had gathered one-hundred thousand of their sisters and brothers to march with them south.

The blonde smiled softly as she relaxed further into the depths of the bath. She could almost taste the southern air now, could almost see the blood that would be spilled over the halls of the Red Keep –Baratheon, Lannister and their puppets' blood. She had learnt all about what they had done to her family, how they had slaughtered the innocents of house Targaryen, blood that never should have spilled. All because of one girl; Lyanna Stark. One girl and her brother had caused an empire to fall, triggered a war where most of the causalities had been innocent. It wasn't uncommon for the women of the free-folk to be stolen from their homes by men. In fact, it was considered the way for a man to prove himself worthy of a woman. Elaenys knew it was different south of the Wall. That the southern women couldn't fight or defend themselves like free-folk women could if they didn't want to marry a man.

Still, to Elaenys, it all seemed unwarranted.

 _Was one girl truly worth a war?_

Thinking back to her lessons on Westeros and what Jasper Waters, as well as her wet nurse-turned-handmaiden Meela had taught her, she couldn't help but ponder all that she still didn't know about the Seven Kingdoms. She knew all about her family's history, every bloody detail. Yet there was still eighteen years' worth of information she was blind to. There was only so much that Mance could tell her, his information even more limited due to his time at the Wall.

With her thoughts on the people responsible for her family's destruction and death, it brought Elaenys back to the conversation she had with Jon Snow earlier…

* * *

 _Jon Snow simply balked at her when she introduced who she was, his eyes filled with so much disbelief and shock that it amused her. The wolf obviously hadn't expected to see a Targaryen girl on the other side of the Wall with an army of free-folk, let alone a Targaryen in general. The only Targaryens known to still be alive were her brother Viserys and her twin sister Daenerys, them and Aemon Targaryen of the Wall also. No one knew of her existence, but to see her in person there was no doubt who she was and where she came from. The silver hair – hers white like snow – and lilac eyes were the traits of the Targaryen household, the family of Old Valyria before the Doom. This seemed to register finally in the wolf's mind as he dropped to his knee, black eyes casting themselves away from her as he mumbled out a pathetic "my queen". She would have laughed if she hadn't already felt sorry enough for him. His dark eyes had been masked but Elaenys had recognised the sadness in them. He was a crow, apart of the brotherhood that would kill her and all of the free-folk if given the chance. Not to mention his father who had helped Robert Baratheon take the Seven Kingdoms from her family. He was her enemy, yet he fascinated her._

 _"You can rise Jon Snow," she looked to Mance, Tormund and her Jasper Waters, "Please give us the tent, I wish to speak to him alone."_

 _All three men had hesitated, threw cautious looks to Jon and then her before they eventually agreed to leave without protests. Although Jasper glared at the poor wolf before he almost ran Jon down on his way out. Elaenys laughed softly once Jasper was out of sight, though she was sure she would find him later manned with the other guards at the front of the tent as he waited for her._

 _"Don't mind Jasper, he saved my life and helped raise me. I'm sure you can understand why he would be protective?"_

 _"Yes, my queen."_

 _Elaenys rolled her eyes at the boy, "You need not be so formal with me. We're alone, you can call me by my name, I prefer Elaenys anyway."_

 _She watched him as he seemed to be stuck on his words, his eyes darted to her before they darted away again as he cleared his throat._

 _"I wish to not disrespect you, my queen."_

 _"You disrespect me when you deny my requests, especially one as simply as using the name my mother gave me," her words were sterner but held no malice, they however seemed enough to make Jon look at her, composed as he nodded in agreement. She doubted he would offer her much else though, and she was surer that he would still, more than likely, refer to her as something else other than her name or simply nothing at all._

 _"I'm sure you have a lot of questions Jon Snow—"_

 _"Jon. If I'm to call you by your name then you can call me by mine…your grace," he quickly added to the end of his interruption._

 _Elaenys had heard that her father Aerys would cut the tongues or burn those who ever interrupted him, opposed him or tried to proposition him. She was nothing like her father, instead she recognised him as the cruel and the mad man that he was. The death of Aerys II Targaryen was something that Elaenys would never disagree with._

 _So, in reply to Jon Snow's interruption Elaenys simply smirked and gave a small nod of her head, "—I'll answer your questions once you have answered mine,_ Jon _."_

 _She moved to sit down and gestured for Jon to do the same across from her. He was hesitant but Elaenys had noticed that he had been tense from the moment he had entered the tent, always silently questioning every move and word made, a characteristic of a true warrior. Slowly he sat across from her with the fire between them, his hands rubbing together to relieve himself the pressure of his tied wrists. When Elaenys noticed his discomfort, she moved to him and pulled out her dagger from its sheath. She watched with amusement as Jon flinched at the gleam of the blade. The woman laughed as she knelt in front of him as she began to cut away the rope that had been tied around his hands._

 _"Relax Jon, if I wanted you dead I would have killed you already."_

 _Her comment didn't seem to relax him, his posture still tense but he muttered a soft "thank you" before she resumed her spot across from him again._

 _"You never did answer Mance, are you with us because you want to lay with Ygritte? I wouldn't blame you Jon, she is a beautiful woman. Men kill to be with her, literally."_

 _His cheeks blushed much to Elaenys' amusement. It seemed to her that Jon was very much still a maid in his own right, taking his stupid crow vow to an entire new level. To vow never to lay with a person was cruel and was no wonder why most men chose to die or desert like Mance had. But Jon, Jon wasn't a deserter –_ that _Elaenys could tell just by looking at him. In her lessons on the Seven Kingdoms she had learnt about House Stark, learned how it was a family who prided themselves on honour and justice. Jon Snow may be a bastard born, but he was a Stark too and desertion was one of the most dishonourable things you could do._

 _"N-No, that's not it."_

 _"You don't think she beautiful? Are men more to your taste?" Elaenys teased with a smirk._

 _"No!" Jon exclaimed immediately, only to glower as she laughed at him. "I – I want to be free."_

 _"Maybe you should have thought about your freedom before you pledged to be celibate your whole life," she remarked, curious to see if Ned Stark's bastard would let her under his skin and crack._

 _"It wasn't what I expected."_

 _His answer was honest which surprised the silver-haired girl, but it also caused her to scoff at his ignorance._

 _"Most things in life aren't," she leaned forward slightly in her seat and raised an eyebrow at Jon, "I'm sure you didn't expect to walk through this campsite and be presented to a Targaryen. Life? It is unpredictable Jon, any day now we could die yet we could also live to the day we are grey and old. You have to live life smart or you won't have much of a life at all."_

 _"Is that what you're doing? Living smart? Because if you were smart you wouldn't call yourself Queen Beyond the Wall and you wouldn't join this war. It's a war that you cannot win."_

 _Elaenys narrowed her eyes at Jon, "And what would a crow like yourself know? Robert Baratheon is a usurper with no birthright to that throne, a throne that belonged to my family. Westeros is just as much my home as it is your's. It was all of our's before you built a wall and left the free folk on the other side."_

 _Her voice had raised at the end of her sentence, her anger towards Robert Baratheon evident. Every time she thought of that man all she could see in her mind was a burly and wild man strike down the sliver head of her older brother Rhaegar, a brother she never had the chance to meet. All because of fucking Robert Baratheon. It wasn't the power of Queen she lusted for – it was for her home, it was for the justice that had yet been served for her family, for the innocents in Kings Landing who had been slaughters and raped for simply being aligned with her family. She wanted a chance at life for her and the free-folk, to stand a chance against Night King. She wanted justice in blood._

 _"You don't know do you?"_

 _Jon's question startled her._

 _What could she possibly not know?_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _He didn't answer. His lips pursed together and she could tell that inside his head he was debating as to what he should and shouldn't tell her. Elaenys stood from her seat and crossed the distance towards Jon, her eyes fiery pools of purple._

 _"Tell me the truth or you will not make it out of this tent alive."_

 _"He's dead, his son Joffrey sits on the Iron Throne."_

 _Shock had her sit next to Jon as she took in the information he had provided. The usurper was dead and now his whelp of a son sat on the throne that had been meant for her brother, for Rhaegar. Tywin Lannister's grandson as well. A chilling calm took over her as she turned to face Jon._

 _"You_ will _tell me everything that you know."_

* * *

And so he did.

Jon Snow told her everything he knew. How the Baratheon and Lannister royal party had come to his family home of Winterfell after the death of Robert Baratheon's Hand Jon Arryn. How the usurper demanded that Lord Stark be his new Hand only for Robert to die in a hunting trip and Ned Stark at the hand of Cersei and Jaime Lannister's rumoured illegitimate bastard months later. He told her how his half-brother Robb had rallied the North to march South to bring back his sisters and his father's bones but had ended up becoming King of the North on the way. She learned how Jon had almost deserted his crow brothers at the Night's Watch when he first heard of his father's death and his half-sisters being taken hostage, so that he could join his brother and help to bring them all back home.

Hearing everything that had happened in the last year and a quarter changed everything for Elaenys. House Stark she had hated the least amount as the other households who had betrayed her family. She could understand why the Starks had wanted Aerys gone. The mad man who unfortunately had been her father killed two of the Stark's in his rule, Lord Eddard's father and older brother after the men had simply pleaded for the daughter of Winterfell to be returned back to them where she belonged. What happened with Lyanna and Rhaegar had been bad to begin with, but then was made worse when it caused the death of two lords. Hearing what had happened to the house of wolves, about how they had only wanted to live in the North in peace, evoked her to feel somewhat sympathetic to Jon and the remainder of his family.

All they had wanted was to live their lives in peace with honour – wasn't that what her family had wanted? To live peacefully without the rule of the Mad King?

The sound of feet stirred her from her thoughts. Meela entered her tent with a plate of food that she sat at a small table before she grabbed a clean pair of clothes for Elaenys to change into. El stood from her bath without a concern for her modesty. Meela had been the mother who had stepped forth since Rhaella had perished, the tanned woman had seen so much of Elaenys that attempts of modestly didn't matter. As a woman of the free-folk it hardly mattered either way, nudeness wasn't something they were raised to shy away from. The blonde loved both Jasper and Meela for the roles they had stepped into. They both had risked their lives every day from the night they fled Dragonstone to now just to ensure that she remained safe, so that she could have a chance to live. They had been considered as nothing but servants in King's Landing, but they meant everything to Elaenys, and to her, they were braver than any knight or soldier could ever be.

"He wants to see you, you know?"

Meela broke the silence and didn't have to say much more for the other girl to know what she meant. El sighed and rubbed her face before she stepped into the robe Meela offered her to wear until she was dry.

"He _did_ see me."

"And then you rushed off and have been avoiding him all day. He worries for you," the older woman scolded.

"He wants to lecture me for telling him to leave when I spoke with Jon Snow. I'm not a child anymore Meela, I can't be a weak little girl, they will eat me alive if I show them weakness."

"The Southerners might, but not the free-folk El. You won the free-folk and then you won their love too. They don't just follow you because you're a strong leader who has proved yourself to them, you forget Mance did the same thing yet they follow _you_."

Meela, Jasper and occasionally Mance were the only people that Elaenys allowed herself to be doubtful with. They had been outsiders once too, southerners who became a part of the free-folk. While Elaenys had been raised of the free-folk as a child, it was only once she was twelve that she had finally been accepted as one of their own.

She chewed on her lip and looked at Meela with uncertainty, "Love? The free-folk are smarter than to follow someone for love. They're following me because I came from a great Westerosi house, because I might be able to use my title to get them pass the Wall."

Elaenys felt a pinch to her arm only to hiss at Meela, the perpetrator who just glared that 'motherly glare' without sympathy.

"The free-folk don't care for Westerosi customs and houses. If you start doubting yourself then you _will_ lose Elaenys. _You_ will die, _they_ will die and _we_ will die. You might be their best chance, but you are also their _only_ chance. The Stark's words are no joke, winter is nearly here and the Night King won't rest to spare any one of us."

Elaenys swallowed thickly at the mention of the Others who roamed out there with the dead, who were marching on the Wall just as they were. Except these creatures meant to destroy where instead the free-folk just wanted to be on the other side, to have a better chance of surviving this winter and the war to come. If they failed to get across the Wall then they would die, there wouldn't be any second chances.

"Sometimes," Elaenys paused, "I'm scared that this is a lot bigger than me, that this need to serve justice for my family will destroy me and everyone I know. That somehow I will do something wrong and then all these lives, they'll be on my hands."

Meela reached over and cupper El's face, the Dornish woman's hands surprisingly warm despite the cold weather, "Everybody fails but you stand up again and you fight again. I won't let anything happen to you, my child. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you."

A grunt of agreement came from the entrance of the tent and both women turned to see that it was Jasper, it was always Jasper. A growing beard covered the bottom half of his face while his hair was shaved on his head to a stubble. He was an aggressive looking man, a giant man with toned muscles upon muscles. He had once been a stable hand for the Red Keep but he could swing a sword and axe like he had trained with them his whole life. Many a time he had used those skills to protect her and Meela, he truly was a force to be reckoned with.

Elaenys smiled at the man, the man she wished had been her birth father.

"Seeing as you don't want me dead, are you going to stop being a big brute?"

He blinked twice at her which meant "no" in his language of silence. Elaenys feigned a dramatic sigh as she stood and made her away behind a sheet hanging from the tent top so she could change in privacy.

As she changed into her favoured all white attire she called out, "Are we going to have to fight until one of us loses and name Meela our queen of love and beauty?"

A wheezy bark of laughter left his lips, the sound of laughter that came from a man who longer had a tongue to form it. Still it was one of her favourite sounds. She heard a disapproving cluck from Meela and the soft thump of a hand meeting someone's fur covered arm. Both Elaenys and Jasper laughed harder at Meela's attempt of reprimanding him. The light-heartedness didn't last long though as Mance walked into her tent with a sour look on his face.

Elaenys finished tying her doublet as Mance spoke, "You let the boy stay?"

"He's useful to me."

"He's a crow," Mance rebutted.

"I know exactly what he is and isn't Mance, I promise you."

"Then you know he's going to stab us in the back the first chance he gets before he runs back to his crow friends and tells them all about who you are and what we're doing?"

Elaenys scoffed at Mance's lack of trust in her judgement as she sat down close to the fire, the rest of the tent's occupants following soon after her.

"I would be an idiot not to know that. It was _you_ who told me exactly how honourable those Stark men are. He would never kill a brother for us – no – he killed Qhorin Halfhand for Qhorin Halfhand. But there's still more the wolf hasn't told me that I need to know… and he also has something I need."

No one said anything, instead they asked with their raised brows.

Elaenys sighed before her eyes shone with steal-like determination, "He has a key to the North that I need. His brother has raised his banners against the South, against the Lannisters and Baratheons. We need alliances in their North or we won't even make it to the South. Robb Stark needs more men if he wants to take his sisters back from King's Landing, and he needs someone who will sit on that throne and allow him his independence. I could do that."

There was a brief pause before Mance broke it.

"What do we do next then, my Queen?"

His lips were tilted up in a tiny smile that sent a flare of pride through her.

"We double our efforts in marching to the Wall. We'll allow Jon to be in our ranks and I'll talk to him, see if I can strike a deal to convince him to help us. My word as a Targaryen must count for something, right?"

Mance nodded his head as he took in what she said, "It'd count more than another's that's for sure. How fast do you wish to move the camp? We have women, children and the elderly with us too to consider."

"I would prefer to travel as fast as we can without strain. We're entering the real game now and we need to make these alliances and keep them safe before the usurpers of King's Landing make any bold moves that could hurt our chances."

Elaenys knew that an army of one-hundred-thousand men was desirable and much needed in this battle over the kingdoms. Her only issue was that the free-folk were looked down upon by the southerners as scum. She would just have to hope that they could do this. The first hurdle would be getting through that wall of ice however.

"We'll leave at first light."

Elaenys looked to both Jasper and Meela, both who had their heads raised in agreement. The white-haired queen nodded her head at Mance.

"At first light."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _We've delved into the character or Elaenys and as you can probably see she will be pretty different to Dany. El is a lot more of a warrior than she is a diplomat and getting justice for her family is a lot more important to her than the Iron Throne. With saying this there will definitely be some similarities between the girls since they are twins too. She's a pretty strong character since she lived with the wildlings her whole life but I used the Meela and El moment to show that like every character in GRRM's world she has vulnerabilities and doubts too - stuff I can't wait to explore as things progress and unravel._

 _Next chapter there will be more on baby El's escape from Dragonstone and of course more precious Jon and wildling banter ;)_

 _Please review/follow/favourite so I know who's interested for more and what else you want to see!_

 _~ Mika_


	3. Chapter Two: Kissed By Fire

**Author's Note**

 _I seriously can't thank any of you enough, seeing you following/reviewing just gives me so much confidence to keep writing, as well as motivation! I must admit I did like writing this chapter but also hated it. I find Jon a very difficult POV to write, alas he is a pretty important character to the story._

 _So here's the next chapter for you all! I don't have faceclaims in mind for my original characters but I do imagine Tom Hardy as Jasper because he's such a rugged bae._

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my character's, everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin and HBO._

* * *

Chapter Two: Kissed By Fire

* * *

Jasper Waters

* * *

Dragonstone

 _Eighteen years ago_

 ** _F_** _uck_ Robert Baratheon.

Fuck the Mad King.

And _fuck_ the Lannisters.

If there was one thing that Jasper Waters wanted most of all, at that moment, it was to kill every last one of those bastards. He was consumed with a raging anger. The kind that was deep and formidable, like the smoke that came after dragon-fire. Smoke that could burned lungs to ashes – the kind which suffocated you whole and left nothing but the deep urge for whatever could quench the scorched pain of one's throat, whether it be air or the blood of one's foes. Jasper needed it all. He lusted for the honour to watch them all die, to do the honour himself and gaze as his own booted foot crushed against their skulls.

Jasper hated them with every fibre of his being. They had taken the soul of the one person he had ever cared for.

Rhaella Targaryen had faded away because of them, because of their war.

Others would have placed their blame to the children Rhaella had just borne, to the child that was nestled within his arms – but he didn't fault innocent children like lesser men. The war brought on Rhaella's early labour, the deaths of her family and son had caused her stress, a labour that he and Ser Willem Darry had known she wouldn't survive. Birthing one child had been hard enough for the Queen's body, the first girl having torn her way out of her mother so badly that the Queen had bled severely. By the second babe her body had been too weak to fight on. He would always blame them; the stags, the lions and wolves.

The babe – _Elaenys –_ was silent but he could feel the child squirm lightly in his arms. He knew she was more than likely hungry and that her hunger would be the reason behind her irritated squirms. The bastard man had no children of his own. He never had any younger siblings to offer him the knowledge of how to care for a child, but he knew the smell of her mother's milk wouldn't help the child's thirst. As he looked down at the flushed face of the girl he felt immediate worry, the anxiousness he hadn't yet dwelled on when it came to how exactly he would care for the child. Jasper turned a corner as he followed along the cold halls of Dragonstone. He didn't know where they would go either. Darry would have taken the other two children east to throw the monster's trail off, far enough that no lord would be able to touch them. It would be some time until any of the idiots realised where Darry had taken the children. But if Jasper were to follow it could risk Rhaella's other children of being found earlier. He would have to find a sanctuary elsewhere.

He turned another corner but had his path blocked by another's body. On reflex, Jasper reached with his spare hand to unsheathe the knife which was tucked into the back of his trousers.

" _Don't_ —" a feminine voice hissed but he grasped the blade in his hand anyway.

"I'm a _friend_ ," the woman's voice was thick with a Dornish accent, "I was to be her grace's wet-nurse, before I was a handmaiden for Queen Rhaella."

Jasper clutched the baby tighter in his arms as he looked at the brown-skinned woman in her nice silk dress – except what had once been just purple silk was instead splattered with blood. Clutched in her hands was a bloodied dagger each, her dainty palms marred in scarlet red. The mute raised an eyebrow at the strange woman but her response was to stand even taller than before. He admired it, the woman's stubbornness to not back down, even in a dangerous situation like this – yet he still wasn't sure if he could trust her. The baby girl in his arms wasn't some ordinary child. There was a price on the princess' head and people would do anything for gold and lordships, even turn in the baby of a mad king.

The Dornish woman however, wouldn't give up.

"I _killed_ the men from here to the room that Queen Rhaella stayed in. We grab what we need or could use and we run, we run North. No one would ever think to look for a dragon in the snow."

Jasper still hesitated, even as the baby started to whine.

"We have to hurry, _now_ ," she hissed as her eyes glared at him with annoyance, only to shift to sympathy when they flickered to Elaenys.

She took a few steps backwards but didn't turn her back to him until she saw that he had stepped forward to follow after her. He knew nothing about children. He knew he wouldn't be able to look after the child by himself. This foreign woman had killed for Rhaella's daughter, the evidence proven when they passed the dead men she had spoken of, their bodies oozing blood that ran down the hallways. When they entered the room appointed to Rhaella during her stay at Dragonstone, a room that had once been hers as a child, he placed Elaenys on the bed. He and the Dornish woman were then quick to raid the room for whatever they might need. He grabbed one of Rhaella's cloak with the Targaryen sigil upon it, only then quickly clean the baby with a sheet from the bed before he wrapped her into the warm black cloak. He turned to see that the tanned woman had stopped before a dresser, a knapsack held in her hand as she looked at an object displayed on the wood top. Jasper went to take a few steps forward to have a closer look at what the woman was so fascinated about, but instead she answered his silent question for him.

"Queen Rhaella loved to look upon this as she bathed. She told me that her mother had passed it down to her to give to her own daughter one day…" the woman trailed off at the end of her sentence. A moment passed before she quickly grabbed the object and placed it in the bag.

When he grunted with disapproval but she simply glared back at him, pushing her way pass him and to the baby. He grabbed hold of her hand harshly before she could reach Elaenys and aligned his body in front of the baby for added effect.

"Let me pass you brute, the baby will freeze out there with no clothes on," she rolled her eyes and forced her way pass him and to the princess.

As she fixed what he had started, Jasper continued to scour the room as quickly as he could. He took silver and gold that the Queen had left lying around her room, as well as the jewellery they could sell without notice. When the princess was dressed, rewrapped into the black cloak and in the Dornish woman's arms they both left with their knapsacks in hand, they quickly made their way down the halls which weaved throughout the keep. The sound of their footsteps was all that could be heard. Many of the soldiers had left to meet the Baratheon army ahead of the stronghold and the servants had fled not long after. They had known that it wouldn't be much longer until Dragonstone was taken too, they knew that it would be their blood and their family's blood that would spoil the ground next.

They were met with no resistance as they escaped to the stables. All the horses had been taken except one, whose reigns were held in a middle-aged servant man's hand. The man looked at them with wide eyes that were filled with fear for who they might be. But when he saw the two, and their un-knightly attire, he relaxed and continued to pull on the reigns of the horse, a horse that they needed.

The Dornish woman, whose name he had yet to learn, stepped forth.

"That horse is not yours, boy."

"And it ain't yours either miss."

Her glare darkened, "No, but we need it more."

The servant man seemed to have grown balls in the short time that he had realised they weren't knights or lords who had come to kill him.

"Yeah? Why don' ya come an' take it from me then bitch?"

Her dark brown eyes flickered to Jasper with a pointed look in them. He knew what her dark eyes were demanding him to do because he had already come to the same conclusion. This man was a liability to them and tongues were always loose when gold was in the picture. They couldn't afford letting this man go, not when there would be a wild hunt for the last living Targaryens when it comes forth that some still live. His eyes notice an axe to the side and with a speed he hadn't known he possessed, he grabbed the weapon and rushed the servant man. With a throw of his arm he delivered the axe into the man's gut, a scream tore from the man's throat but Jasper ignored it as he watched the servant fall to the ground bleeding. The horse neighed and reared backwards but calmed when the Dornish woman pulled it away by the reigns to settle it. Jasper strode closer to the man who continued to wail on the ground and brought his foot down on the man's neck, breaking it and diminishing his screams.

Jasper had never killed anyone before, yet it had been so easy.

A hand grasped his shoulder and squeezed tightly.

" _I_ _know_ – but we can't stay here any longer. We have to go or we will die, _she_ will die."

Jasper let her pull him away and to the horse. He lifted her, with Elaenys in her arms, onto the saddle then lifted himself on behind her.

* * *

Jon Snow

* * *

North of the Wall

When the Targaryen Queen finished her talk with Jon, he was led out from her tent by the wildling Tormund Giantsbane and to one of many communal areas of the camp. Most of the wildlings seemed to have retired to their own tents or furs for the night, a group however was still awake as they laughed around a single dying fire. All of them acknowledged the giant wildling beside him with respect, most of their eyes then straying to Jon expressing their clear distaste for him. Wildings didn't trust easy – or much at all really. He was lucky as it was to have not yet meet the end of any of their blades. With Tormund's guidance, they continued further in the direction of the wildings still awake. Amongst the group, Jon noticed the familiar red strands of hair and husk of Ygritte's voice. He couldn't fool himself into believing that he could trust the wildling girl, he however couldn't help but feel relief at seeing her there. Tormund shoved him forward in the direction closest to her, Jon's huff of annoyance drawing her attention to their approach.

Her hard-cold stare pierced at Tormund as she raised an eyebrow at the man. It reminded Jon of the stony look he had seen already, but in a pair of lilac eyes instead. The women beyond the Wall weren't like the maids and ladies he was used to. These women were wild, they possessed cold stones for eyes. The majority are fighters like their brothers and fathers. It was unnerving to Jon, particularly when his communication with the opposite sex had never been successful to begin with. He grunted in annoyance as he felt his body propel forward, a curse silent on his lips as he glared at the wildling man responsible.

"You wanted the crow?" Tormund was the one who kicked him to the ground so that he was now on his knees, "Here. 'ave him."

No other words were spoken between the two red-haired wildlings, no fighting like he expected. It shouldn't surprise him, she _had_ fought for him to be where he was now. Jon could only assume that it meant she didn't hate him half as much as the others did.

A life for a life.

A debt.

"C'mon Jon Snow, I'll show you where we'll be sleepin'," Ygritte smirked as she stood from the fallen tree she'd been sitting on.

The red-haired girl walked away with a skip to her step. Jon couldn't help but imagine what it would like to see her hair fall between her shoulder blades, to sway with each skip she took. To see her in a dress like the girls wore in Winterfell… Jon immediately shook the image away and followed her. Thoughts like those were treacherous and, ultimately, too dangerous to fantasize over. He had to remember the vows he took. Already he had broken so many, he couldn't – _wouldn't_ break more. Ygritte came to a small tent that he assumed to be hers. She passed him a change of clothes more suited for the free-folk and a small pile of pelts. He ignored the red head's smirk as he made his makeshift bed as far away from hers as he could, albeit due to the size of the tent it wasn't very far.

The last thing he had expected was to see a bloody Targaryen north of the Wall. But there she had stood, a beauty in all white furs with vibrant violet eyes that burned into your soul. Jon hadn't realised there had been another Targaryen, he never had the time to ask her the questions that she promised he could. Instead Elaenys had been pulled away by Mance to deal with clan fights amongst her garrison.

So here he was – Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark and a member of the Night's Watch now turned deserter – lying on his wildling pelts in a camp full of wildlings who wanted him dead.

"Don't you go pull a knife on me again, Jon Snow."

To say he found it hard to sleep that night was an understatement.

* * *

The next morning Jon was woken up along with all the other wildlings in the camp at first light. The Queen wanted to double their speed and lessen the time it would take to get to the Wall, or so he was told by Ygritte. The information left a bitter taste in Jon's mouth. Half of his brothers had been North of the Wall last time he saw. He could only hope that they were on their way back to Castle Black by now or were already there. He didn't doubt that the wildlings would kill them if they were to catch the Men of the Night's Watch still on this side of the Wall.

When Jon had finished getting ready he made his way out from the tent and towards the communal area where Mance and the rest were eating. There were ninety wildling clans who were apart of the garrison, almost every clan of the free-folk was a part of the Targaryen Queen's army. Jon had heard whispers around the campsite that the Queen could turn herself into a dragon and eats the flesh of men. Others say she burns her enemies at the stake. Jon wasn't sure which rumour made him sweat more. Dragons had been dead for centuries and no Targaryen in history had ever physically turned into one themselves. Something told Jon that the second piece of gossip could have been the truth. Their Queen, while she physically looked delicate to one's eye, was rather a force not be messed with. Her cold stare was enough to send chills down Jon's spine and having been raised as one of the wildings, Jon imagined that her skill base to kill and fight would be much like Ygritte's.

Speaking of, Jon's eyes made contact with the red-head. Her back was to him as she worked on arrows for her bow. Her fiery hair was blowing in the morning wind, and Jon couldn't help feeling enticed by it.

"She likes you, you know."

Jon startled when the voice of the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall spoke from behind him. He turned to face the smaller girl, her lips stretched into a smirk as she looked at him.

"Don't deny it, wolf. You're pitching a tent all for yourself."

Jon's cheeks flushed immediately, his head snapping downwards only to be met with nothing besides Elaenys' laughter. He looked at her and still managed to glare despite how pretty she looked smiling without a trace of anger on her face. She was beautiful like every Targaryen was and it was nice to see her not so intimidating like usual.

"You make it too easy Jon," she smirked as she laughed.

She pushed back her hair, straightening herself before she motioned for him to follow her.

The night before, after he had told her all he knew about the Seven Kingdoms, they had spoken of his journey to her campsite; what he did and why. When he had told her he wanted to be free she had scoffed in his face. So he told her about Craster and his sons, how Lord Commander had known. Jon wasn't sure how convinced she'd been, their conversation had been cut off before he could say much else to her. But he was still here, dressed in the garb of the wildings, a good sign if Jon had ever seen one.

"We'll be marching soon. Eat something before we go, you'll be walking most the day with little stops," she said with stoic eyes, "You're going to need your strength to survive out there."

She sauntered off, leaving him by the fire with only himself for company and protection. The others didn't trust him. Their queen had allowed him to stay but the scepticism was clear on their faces, they didn't like him and they probably never would. Resting next to the fire were skewered pieces of rabbit meat, at least what Jon assumed to be seeing as there wasn't much game to be hunted this far north. It hardly mattered to him what kind of meat it was, the wildlings were eating it without a problem so it meant the meat was safe at least. Jon grabbed one for himself and sat away from the others, he wasn't welcomed and he didn't care. He was used to being scorned by everyone's eyes, first at Winterfell by Lady Stark and then at the Night's Watch when he first arrived. It hardly surprised him to be on the other end of disdain, Jon was simply used to it by now.

The only people who had ever treated him with genuine kindness had been his siblings. To them he had simply just been Jon – Jon their brother. Sitting in the cold by himself, Jon couldn't stop his thoughts from straying to them for the hundredth time since he left them all in Winterfell and on the King's Road. In the depths of night when Jon allowed his doubts to surface he often thought about how he wished he could be with his siblings again. They all needed him when their father had been killed. Robb needed him when he first raised his and the North's banners against the South, and would still need him now as he continued his march. Arya and Sansa needed him to aid in their rescue from the Lannister's clutches, to bring them back to the North where they never should have left to begin with. Bran and Rickon needed him to protect them, to look after them like a big brother should.

He missed them.

He longed to be back with them but in his heart, Jon knew he couldn't live with being Jon Snow. His name made him feel inadequate, undeserving to revel in the warmth of his siblings who shouldn't have to feel like they _had_ to accept him.

"You going to mope the whole time, Jon Snow? 'ere, eat this."

The curt and rough tone of Ygritte's voice broke Jon from his thoughts, only to pass him a makeshift bowl of what looked to be some type of soup. He hesitated at first which earned him a scornful laugh from the red-head, who found his hesitance both amusing and idiotic. It annoyed him greatly, but at the same time it was refreshing. Her blunt and witty attitude was uncommon south of the Wall. Many girls would take to blushing before ever calling him out on his nervousness. Ygritte didn't care. She was free to think and feel however she wished. She was fierce and didn't cower away from death. Not to mention that not once did he ever see disdain in her eye when she looked at him. Ygritte never sneered down her nose at him because of his birth. While she did at his title of "crow", she still found him… well Jon thought she almost found him amusing in a sense, an interesting amusement she wasn't accustomed to amongst her own people.

Taking the food she offered him, Jon began to eat as he ignored her comment. While the red-head was interesting, Ygritte still didn't know anything about his life to judge him. She didn't understand what it felt like to be scorned as he had. Being the bastard of an honourable lord was more painful than if he had been the King's bastard. Everyone knew that late King Robert had whored his whole life, that he had plenty of bastards running around Storm's End and Flea Bottom – more than likely stretching across all of Westeros too. She could poke fun at him all she wanted, but she would never understand what it felt like, how it feels to be a Snow.

" _Awh_ – have I upset you, your lordliness?"

"I'm not a lord," he grumbled with annoyance.

"No," she smirked at him, "you were a crow and now you're one o' us, Jon Snow."

He looked up from his makeshift bowl so he could look at her instead. He was met with hard eyes, fierce and stormy blues that spoke volumes. They said everything that didn't need to be spoken aloud. He was a part of the wildlings now. He was no longer Eddard Stark's bastard son, nor was he a brother to the Night's Watch. Ygritte's eyes told him that if he wanted to live here with them – _to_ _survive_ – then those parts of him had to die, that he had to embrace this new self and become a part of the _free-folk_. Her eyes were so hard – _ruthless_ – but beneath them he could see a pleading he never thought he'd ever see in her eyes. They were warning him of what would come if he didn't give in, if he didn't assimilate into the lifestyle of the free-folk. Jon couldn't answer her or acknowledge what she had said. It felt wrong to say anything when he knew that the first chance he got he would leave, run back to Castle Black and tell Lord Commander everything he knew.

 _That's if he even gets that far_.

He could feel eyes on him wherever he went. If it wasn't the general population of wildlings, it was Ygritte and the three men who had been in the tent yesterday. Almost always it was the huge man who the Targaryen princess had called Jasper Waters. _Waters_. The name given to bastard children of King's Landing. It was strange to be so far north of the Wall and yet still be surrounded by reminders of home.

Jon looked back down at his bowl, avoiding having to answer as he let himself be consumed by his own self-loathing.

* * *

Five hours had passed since they had set off marching. Five long hours that Jon could feel bearing down on his shoulders with each step he took through the thick snow. Their marching had yet to stop, all of them travelling together at a steady pace that shocked him. No one seemed to be struggling as much as he was. This was their land and they knew it extensively well, so well that it sent a bead of sweat down the back of his neck. They had one-hundred thousand able people marching against the Wall, knowledge of the vastness that was this North and _giants_. Many had marched against the Wall before and while Jon didn't think they would win, they would however take many men with them. The Wall was already struggling when it came to numbers and supplies. If the wildings were smart they would wait them out.

Jon's eyes casted around to the people walking beside him as well as in front. It's been hours since he had last seen a familiar face. Shortly after they had started walking Ygritte had disappeared much like Elaenys Targaryen had. Tormund Giantsbane, Mance Rayder and the Queen's guard dog had also been missing. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He had expected them to follow him wherever he went. Looking at the swarm around him he guessed it hardly mattered if they were watching him or not. If he were to run now, then any one of the wildlings around him would put an arrow or sword through him as quick as they could. The thought left him in a bitter mood once again. Escaping back to his brothers at Castle Black wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped.

It was another hour of trekking through the snow until he was approached by Mance Rayder.

Mance's face was set into the same scowl Jon saw last night, a look that seemed to be permanently etched on the man's face. His dark, oily hair was tied back from his face yet strands still blew across his face with the bitter wind. He was in the same wilding garb as Jon, the one thing which he could appreciate about the wildlings; their furs were much warmer than that of the Night's Watch.

"We're about to stop to eat and rest before we march on again."

Jon wasn't sure what to say, instead he continued to look at Mance and nodded his head as answer. He thought that Mance would leave him like he had at the start of their marching, instead he stayed and walked beside Jon in silence – a silence that ended too quickly for Jon's liking.

"Was it hard for you to kill the Halfhand?"

Jon pursed his lips in aggravation, "Yes."

"You liked him?" Mance questioned with Jon nodding in answer, "Elaenys likes you, but if you're playing us false, it won't be hard for me to kill you. I've got wildling blood in my veins, _she_ was raised by wildlings. These are our people."

He could feel Mance's eyes on him like a hot poker, assessing every move that he made. Jon knew that Mance didn't trust him, yet was willing to give him the benefit of doubt – they all were. None of them trusted him and yet he was still here, still breathing because their queen had decided he was useful to her.

"I understand."

Mance scoffed, "Well, how could you understand?"

They both stopped as Jon turned to face Mance, annoyed at the patronising nature of the older man. He sighed inwardly before he spoke, "You want to protect your people."

He watched as the wildling man pursed his lips, his dark eyes flickering to the people around them before he looked back to Jon.

"Do you know what it takes to unite ninety clans, half of whom want to massacre the other half for one insult or another? They speak seven different languages in this army. The Thenns hate the Hornfoots. The Hornfoots hate the Ice-River clans. Everyone hates the Cave-People. So, you know how one girl got moon-worshippers, cannibals and giants to march together in the same army?"

Half-way through the man's speech, Jon's eyes had drifted away to look at the men and women who were slowing their pace to start the short break they were being given. He knew there was an extensive number of clans and people banded together, yet hearing the words come from Mance's mouth made it more surreal. What they had achieved should have been impossible. But here he stood amongst what had once seemed impossible, he was marching along with a seemingly coherent body of soldiers.

Jon looked back up at Mance and shook his head with genuine disbelief, "No."

Mance inclined his head for Jon to follow him. Both trudged through the snow together until they were walking slightly away from the mass of people. Mance turned his head to Jon but didn't stop his walking, probing Jon to walk beside him.

"I remember the day that Elaenys Targaryen and her guardians crossed the Wall and into wildling country. I was still a part of the Night's Watch then, you see. The moment they arrived they were taken to Maester Aemon – you can guess why – and then by morning they were gone. No one knew who they were, no one cared to know. Eight years later I deserted my brothers while ranging north of the Wall. The clan that found me was the exact same that had found them years before. I recognised them when I saw them, it was when I saw _her_ that it all made sense. With reason I lived with them, the free-folk had accepted me into their ranks but I was still a crow to them. It was four years later that a neighbouring clan tried to do anything about it. By then we were all living in a small wooden house, Elaenys was twelve and learning to fight like all the other children at that time. She was raised along with them and yet was still an outcast because she was a southerner. One day she didn't go to training like the other children… when we heard what had happened we were too late. The house was burning and little Elaenys was inside."

Jon's dark eyes widen with shock and confusion, his lips parting as he went to question what Mance meant. Mance stopped him before he could say anything with a sharp look, continuing his story.

"You've seen Jasper Waters, seen how much he loves that girl. It took ten men to keep him from running into that burning house, eleven before he killed a man. We all watched as the house burned, watched until it was ashes. It was then as the flames burned out, when there was only ashes remaining of our home that we saw her. There, in the midst of ashes, she sat naked as the day she was born and unharmed."

He hadn't thought he could feel any more shock than he already had. But Jon stood still, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Mance with more shock than he could comprehend. The man in return simply smirked at Jon, but he hardly cared, his mind was still stuck on the new information he had been told.

"The fire hadn't touched her. Not a strand of her white hair had been burned by the fire. _That's_ what it takes to unite ninety clans, Jon Snow. That and the promise we'll all die if we don't get south. Half of this army thinks her a god, some think she's a witch or demon. Then there's the few who know the stories like you and I. The Targaryens… dragons made flesh."

"It didn't hurt her? At all?"

Mance chuckled deeply in his throat, "Aye, not a single mark was on her."

The older man licked his lips and glanced briefly up at the air, almost like he was expecting something to be there. They had stopped sometime during Mance's story, now with the story untold Mance began to walk forward again. He beckoned Jon to keep following, Jon could only assume that there was somewhere they needed to be as they passed the resting soldiers.

"She wasn't the only thing that came out of that fire."

Jon looked at Mance, brows furrowed deeply as he openly questioned what the man was saying. What else could have possibly survived such a thing? To most, fire was lethal.

"What do you mean?"

He needn't the answer from Mance. A chill hollowed his stomach leaving him empty as a large shadow casted over them all. Jon's eyes slowly trailed up to the sky, his eyes blinking slowly as they tried to grasp the image he was seeing.

All he could make out was silver and white, wings that stretched on and a tail.

Perched on its back was the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _It might be a cliche, BUT COME ON. HOW COULD I NOT, I LIVE FOR THESE DRAGONS AND DIREWOLVES._

 _More Elaenys to come in next chapter!_

 _I'm also very curious as to what you guys would like to see Jon do in this fic. I have a few ideas that I'm tossing up since this is obviously AU and is going to stray a lot from the ending of season three. I'd love it if you_ _reviewed what you would like to see Jon do!_

 _~ Mika_


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